Voila voila. I’m back in New York, and it’s pretty much like i never left. Paying work is sparse, with a social life like spilled marbles. Can’t complain. Paris was a blur. The night i got in was clear and mild, and Nils and i took a walk down rue Montorgueil. We drank delicious cheap wine outside facing the open air cheese and vegetable shops. And instantly i kicked myself for planning the trip for only four days, for fleeing the place after a piddling 10 months, for not trying more cheeses. But by day four my tongue was stained purple, i was in perpetual dehydration, and my brain hurt from concentrating hard every time someone spoke to me in french. And i was ready to get the hell out.

I took many pictures and i’m hoping to put them up on the site, depending on motivation. I sat next to a Jesus freak with horrible breath on the airplane home. He kept saying, “God bless you” and “Jesus loves you” with this beatific open mouthed smile. And i would shrink down into my sweater and towards the window trying to escape his dank breath. If Jesus really were up there in the firmament trying to convert me he’d be smart enough to send a lamb in the form a hot guy with lots of funny jokes and an unlimited supply of Tic Tacs. Until then i remain an nonbeliever.

I also am convinced i came home carrying an extra 5 lbs on my person, specifically on the hippy region. When you only have 2 weeks of decent chocolate though, there’s no holding back. And decent wine, and decent cream sauce, and pastries, and those nuts they serve with cocktails…

Otherwise i’m a little bit blocked about what else to say about the trip. It was fun. It was also weird to be vacationing in a city in which i once lived. When i met new people i vacillated between making sure they knew that i had lived here for the better part of last year, or just letting them think i was a tourist with surprisingly decent french. Mostly i explained that i had lived there, if only to justify why my trip was so short. At Nils’ house we listened to cassette tapes of James Taylor and Janis Joplin which reminded me of sleep-away camp when i was 11 (minus the booze and cigarettes). In keeping with old times, there was a night of questionable art and even more questionable champagne. I woke up late everyday. My aunt taught me how to make a frittata French/Turkish style. And i spent plenty of time trying to give a coherent explanation of my current professional life to various befuddled family members. I should have used the line i kept saying to my dad: I’m just going through an unambitious phase right now. And then a bit mystically: But don’t worry everything in life passes. As you can imagine, that works really well on the over 40 crowd.

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